


Rejection Sensitivity

by drinkbloodlikewine



Series: Exclusion Theory [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, excessive grinding, making out on desks, snogging and so on, unnecessary laundering, unwarranted office visits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Lecter pays a visit to George Washington University to reunite with the dangerously clever Forensic Sciences grad student he met at the reception; Will Graham is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rejection Sensitivity

**Author's Note:**

> "In the face of an obstacle which is impossible to overcome, stubbornness is stupid." - Simone de Beauvoir

“Who sent it?”

Will set his folder of student essays on the small desk was allotted, squashed between two other grad students and the wall in the teacher’s office. Dropping back into his chair, he turned the letter over in his hands.

“Not sure,” replied the student at the front desk. “It came in with everything else.”

No stamp, no return address, so it must have been dropped off personally. His name was written in dark ink, cobalt blue, across the front: Mr. William Graham in perfect script. He was aware that this was expensive paper, mostly because it felt like no other paper he’d touched before, dense and textured. A wedding invitation, maybe, from someone else in the department - an expected formality to avoid awkward looks if he weren’t invited. He popped the fold open and slid out the note inside, and as the scent of expensive tobacco filled his nose he felt a tension gather deep in his stomach.

“Mr. Graham,” the letter began. “I deeply enjoyed making your acquaintance during, and after, the reception at Johns Hopkins University. I feel as though we have many more ideas to share to our mutual benefit - might we arrange another meeting of minds?”

The letter ended with Hannibal Lecter’s ornate signature, and included a business card with a phone number and a notation which read “By Appointment Only”. Warmth rose in Will’s cheeks as he read the letter a second time through. For a moment he thought he tasted wine.

He rubbed his neck and tried to force the blush to pass. No one was here but the student at the front of the office, and no one else had read the letter because it was still sealed. His nerves fired off like gunshots at the thought and he shoved the note back into the envelope and crammed it into an overstuffed drawer.

Will had endured the days that followed the lecture under tireless scrutiny by his classmates, smirked at even by the students he was trying to teach. The plum bruises that had bloomed along his neck were unfortunately just above the collar of his shirts, and he hadn’t figured out a way to completely stop them from being seen.

He hid the hurt he felt at their shock, of course - they were naturally surprised that Will Graham would ever do something so human, so normal. He took mild comfort in the fact that the excess of rumors meant that no one had actually seen what happened that night.

It wasn’t until another week had passed that he had remembered the letter was there, and wished he’d responded with a clear decline. He was deep in papers from freshmen fumbling through evidence collection protocols, and the office was all but empty. He made scratchy red notes in the margins, listening only distantly to the student at the front desk.

“Actually, we’re just closing,” she said. “Could you come back tomorrow?”

“My apologies. I would simply like to return something to Mr. Graham, who I do see is still here. Is he available?”

Will’s pen bled into the paper as that voice sent a cascade of shivers down his spine. Soft and firm all at once like antler velvet, like lichen over stones.

“If you want to leave it here, I can bring it to him.” Her voice dropped a little lower. “He doesn’t like it when we interrupt him.”

Stiffly, Will stood. The student glanced back at him and Will capped his pen. “It’s fine,” he said tightly. “You can let Dr. Lecter in.”

“Okay,” she responded, “but it’s late and I was just getting ready to -“

“And you can go.” Will forced an unconvincing smile. “It’s fine.”

She opened the small door separating the waiting area from the teachers’ desks. “You can go back,” she said doubtfully, grabbing her things and making a break for the exit before anyone changed their mind.

The door closed behind her and the room was quiet except for the hum of air vents and the click of footsteps as Hannibal approached his desk. Stripes of white criss-crossed a gunmetal field, silver paisely tie accenting the suit in shades of grey. Long legs and lanky arms. Dark blonde hair arranged in smooth lines back out of his face. The promise of a smile in the corners of his eyes more than the actual thing itself.

“Why are you here?” Will asked as evenly as he could manage, fingers furiously picking at the peeling laminate on his desk.

Hannibal laid Will’s scarf on his desk next to him. It was folded into a tidy square and tied up neatly with a string of jute. “You left this behind,” explained Hannibal. “It fell on the ground so I had it laundered for you. I wanted to return it, in case you were in need. It’s still quite cool out.”

Will snatched up the scarf and held it in his hand, not knowing what to do with it but not wanting it there. It felt like too much like evidence. “Thanks,” he said curtly. “You really didn’t need to go out of your way, and the office is actually closed, so -“

“I sent you a message,” Hannibal asked, taking in his surroundings as though he were on an afternoon stroll. “Did you receive it?”

Will grimaced. “Yes, I received it.”

“And have you given it any consideration?” Hannibal’s eyes traced a steady line from Will’s eyes, to his mouth - lips flushed from being chewed on so anxiously - to his neck. He was searching for the marks he’d left, Will realized, and he self-consciously ran a hand along his neck to rub away the memories that tingled in his skin.

Will paced around his desk and glanced warily towards the hallway door before watching Hannibal at a distance. Exasperation finally broke in his voice. “You can’t just show up here like this, dropping off notes and scarves, and - people will notice. They’ll ask questions. People will,” he grit his teeth, “talk.”

He felt Hannibal move towards him, like water lapping at the shore of a lake. “What could they have to talk about? Peers comparing notes with respect to shared mutual interests. It isn’t improper for two men of science to share their research.” Hannibal reached out towards Will’s face, and Will jerked his head away from the touch.

“That,” he hissed, “is improper. What happened before is improper. This is where I work, where I study. What happened was,” he shook his head. “It was a mistake. I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“If I may be so bold, Mr. Graham, I believe you may be experiencing a state of denial.”

Will snorted. “If I may be so bold, Dr. Lecter, I believe you may be experiencing a state of chronic narcissism.” Amusement crept across Hannibal’s lips and Will’s gaze narrowed. Suspicion drew his tone taut like a bow. “What are you getting out of this?”

Hannibal shrugged easily, a reserve of strength kept at bay by a barrier of plaid. “I find you deeply interesting.”

“Oh good. That’s exactly what I need - more people to find me ‘interesting.’” He huffed a laugh, assuring Hannibal, “I know more about you than you do about me.”

His disorder felt like taking a shower with someone else constantly adjusting the temperature. No matter how Will tried to avoid it, it was always too hot, too cold, never just right and always uncomfortable. It was a grandfather clock with movements that sometimes seemed so loud he wished he could just smash it and never hear it again.

“You’re not here because I embarassed you,” Will began. “What I said was true. You didn’t actually care what anyone thought about you at the reception. In fact,” he rubbed a hand tiredly under his glasses, “the whole situation benefits you. It made you more interesting to them and makes them that much more eager to try to figure you out. You won’t let them get anywhere close to you, of course - not really. You feed them just enough scraps that they keep coming back to you for more.”

Hannibal’s head tilted just perceptibly as Will continued. “They’re so busy trying to win you over that they don’t notice any hints of the things you keep to yourself - those things that you never show anyone. Your scraps keep them oblivious to your,” he paused, reaching, “proclivities. Whatever they are. There are many. I don’t know what they are,” he admitted. He sensed a change in temperature, a sudden shift from hot to cold. “Nobody does.”

“Somewhere inside, though, it bothers you. Even though you’ll use it to your benefit, it bothers you that I was the one who controlled that moment, rather than you. I fed you the scraps and now it’s made you curious, instead of the other way around.”

Hannibal made a thoughtful noise, surprised even. Will felt Hannibal’s gaze like persistent fingers, teasing the coarse wool of his thick sweater, tracing lines down his well-worn jeans, tearing at his skin and cracking open his ribs to pull him apart and look inside and Will took a deep breath, eyes cast downward.

“Remarkable,” Hannibal said and his tone was as even as though he were discussing the weather. Will felt his cheeks gather heat. “They call it a disorder, I imagine, and although technically accurate, in reality it’s far from that. Your way of seeing is more ordered than they could possibly imagine.” He tilted his head. “It must be incredibly difficult to be so aware of those around you, when they are often so unaware of themselves. I imagine it’s,” a pointed pause, “overwhelming.”

Bitterness tightened Will’s tone and he smiled humorlessly. “It’s everyone’s favorite party trick. They bring me out when they need me to do it and put me away again when I’m done. I’m just the beater with the good motor that can get them where they want to go, so if that’s all you want from me you’ll have to take a number.”

“It must be very lonely.”

Will avoided his gaze, chewing his lower lip.

“I’m not here because I want to use you, William. I’m here because I want to know you.”

Although the hallway outside the office was dark he still felt as though all the school was around him, watching. “Look,” he whispered. “I appreciate it, I do, and it was nice to pretend to be normal for a night, but I’m not - I can’t -“

“Be normal?” Hannibal’s voice overrode his as he stepped closer. He pushed his fingers through Will’s hair and Will felt shivers erupt up the back of his neck. “You must reconsider the meaning of the word. Most look into a mirror expecting to see their ideal selves, and are often disappointed by their own expectations. But when two mirrors face each other, they reflect their truest nature back at the other, infinitely.”

“I’m not sure if you’re another mirror yet,” Will murmured, confused. “Or if I’m just reflecting back a dark room and trying to read the shadows.”

A soft hand pressed against his smooth cheek. “Perhaps in the darkness, you might find peace. Maybe you’re seeing something you need.”

“There’s that narcissism again,” Will replied with a note of humor, but he didn’t withdraw from the hand carressing his face. Hannibal was overstuffed with pride, yes, but perhaps not undeservedly so. Even beyond his aristocractic carriage, there was something about him - a familiarity, like an old friend reunited - and Will wasn’t surprised that so many people were drawn to him.

“Rather than finding only those whose residence within you is destructive, is it so unreasonable to consider that you might instead find someone who is of benefit to you?” His fingers caught a stray curl and twisted it back from Will’s face. “It seems folly to dismiss this as mere coincidence, although I certainly endeavored to do so after our meeting. Fortunately, I was unsuccesful in convincing even myself.”

Hannibal traced a thumb across Will’s lips and Will allowed it. They parted just a little under the gentle touch, curious about this man who had come to find him. He watched Hannibal intently, and let his lips part enough to allow his thumb past them, teasing it softly with his tongue. Will couldn’t help feeling a little pleased with himself when in return a soft sound could be heard from somewhere deep in Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal’s dark eyes were heavy-lidded but his gaze was sharp, focused on absorbing every moment as though in memorization, until he leaned in and replaced his fingers with his mouth, and Will allowed this, too.

Alarmingly sober, Will was surprised by how demanding Hannibal’s lips felt against his own, the decisive way their tongues met, mouths turned into a war of attrition that both would win and both would lose. The women Will had kissed before were gentler in their mutual fumblings, and the high school friend to whom he had lost his virginity was so passive about the experience that he still suspected it as an - admittedly appreciated - act of pity. Few experiences, all told, the intensity of that kind of closeness being something he found deeply distracting. Not nearly so distracting, though, as the way that Hannibal pushed him back across the desk with a firm hand, commanding his attention so intensely that Will could do nothing more than acquiesce.

He tried weakly to stop Hannibal as he leaned low and began to kiss his neck, but couldn’t untangle himself. “No bruises,” he insisted, but his voice was lost in a gasp as Hannibal ignored him entirely. Livid marks formed with every rough kiss and despite himself, Will liked it. He liked knowing that other people would see them and wonder, maybe even feel envious. He liked that other people would know that he had finally found something like normal.

But Will was embarrassed to discover how hard he was already, cheeks scarlet in surprise as Hannibal forced his thighs apart. Grabbing Will’s hips, he pulled them together with one brusque motion, and Will rocked back in response, feeling their cocks grinding against each other through the denim of his jeans, the wool of Hannibal’s slacks. The sound of the friction, of their joined breath, was almost as intoxicating as the sensation itself and Will wrapped a leg over Hannibal’s hip to squeeze him closer, muscle working against muscle as their lengths pressed hard together again and again. The table squeaked precariously with the movement of their fierce rutting. Hannibal braced his hands on either side of Will, caging him beneath and knocking a flutter of papers to the floor.

“I want you to think of me when you’re working at this desk,” Hannibal whispered against his throat, and Will felt overpowered, not just by the size of the man looming over him - although he was considerably stronger than Will had assumed from his lean frame - but more by his presence. He seemed to fill the entire room with his being alone and each insistent thrust down against Will felt possessive. Although his back was arched with pleasure as Hannibal drove hard against him, Will pushed his fingers back through Hannibal’s hair and with a yank, pulled back tightly. He could play this game, too.

“Not here,” he murmured. Not a question, a direction. Hannibal rolled his hips forward again, sending a warm flutter through Will’s body. Will tugged his head back a little further, enjoying the way that Hannibal’s neck arched, the look of bemused irritation in his eyes. “My place.”

Hannibal raised a brow in mild surprise. For a moment, Will expected to be bent over the desk as a response, but slowly Hannibal relinquished his hold over Will, peeling back from him with a rueful look.

“As you insist.” A hint of frustration in his voice, Hannibal turned away to arrange himself in as discreet a manner as possible. Will tried not to appear overly pleased as Hannibal did what he asked, but had to suppress a flinch when he stood up, still unbearably hard and suffering at least as much as he was making Hannibal suffer.

Will wrapped up in the scarf that he would wear almost daily afterward, secretly enjoying the scent of expensive imported tobacco and fine soap and Hannibal that clung to it. As they tidied up his desk and left the school that night, the space between them felt like a magnetic field, drawing one to the other, never more than arm’s reach apart. Will took his time across the manicured lawns of downtown D.C., just to enjoy the feeling of Hannibal watching him for a few moments more.


End file.
